


Rest for the Weary

by verilyvexed



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verilyvexed/pseuds/verilyvexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta by kispexi2 an age ago (and I lost the file) - so we'll say all the good bits are her fault, all the bad bits are mine.  She deserves all the world's chocolate for indulging my Gojyo/Sanzo kink, despite not exactly sharing it herself. <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	Rest for the Weary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kispexi2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kispexi2/gifts).



> Beta by kispexi2 an age ago (and I lost the file) - so we'll say all the good bits are her fault, all the bad bits are mine. She deserves all the world's chocolate for indulging my Gojyo/Sanzo kink, despite not exactly sharing it herself. &lt;3

Gojyo didn't need this.  

  


They had been stuck out in the middle of nowhere for a week now, holed up in some backwoods piece of shit village without even a bar to its name.  Over the weather, supposedly.  Yeah, right.  More like 'cos Sanzo-sama felt like having a sulk.  Ever since their first night there, when the sky had taken on a gunmetal hue and a light drizzle started to fall, their fearless leader had been in an even shittier mood than usual.  

  


Gojyo had volunteered to check on him, to try to jerk him out of his self-imposed solitary confinement, or at least bitch at him for worrying the monkey.  Hakkai had his hands full trying to cheer the chimp up.  Gojyo figured since he couldn't get shitfaced or laid, he might as well do something useful.

  


The door was locked, but they had got an extra key from the check-in girl.  Gojyo walked in with a tray of food, not bothering to knock.  He half-hoped to catch the pissy monk in the middle of something embarrassing.  Picking his nose, maybe.  Or jerking off.

  


Instead, Sanzo was standing by the window, face nearly pressed to the glass: staring out at the rain.  Gojyo felt no sympathy; if the monk wanted to drown himself in self-pity, it was nothing to him.  He knocked the door shut with his heel, dropped the tray on the table a little louder than he had intended.  “Brought you some food, your holiness.”  There was a smirk in his voice, a “yeah, you’re in hell right now and I don’t give a shit” smug satisfaction to the tone.

  


Gojyo wasn’t prepared for the look Sanzo gave him.  He turned from the window, casting his gaze back over his shoulder.  He looked as if he was drowning.

  


Gojyo didn’t know what to say.  “I’ll just leave it, then,” he mumbled, wanting to leave and avoid this uncomfortable situation.  Sanzo said nothing, simply turned back to the window and continued to stare.  It was growing dark out.  Gojyo wondered if he would continue to stare after night fell and there was nothing to see but empty darkness.

  


“Sanzo?” he asked.  The silence was too heavy.

  


“What.”  Not a question.  A flat listless syllable.

  


“Ah.  Nothing.”  

  


He could cheer him up, maybe.  Gojyo was good for that sort of thing, distracting people.  He approached Sanzo, tossed an arm playfully around his shoulders.  “Pretty wet out there, yeah?”  It was a lame thing to say, he knew.  That was the point.  Sanzo would balk at his idiocy, whack him with the fan, call him a moron, slap his arm away -- something.  Anything was better than the unseeing gaze, the grey blank expression, the colourless voice.

  


Sanzo remained motionless, unresponsive even to the arm around his shoulders.  Gojyo hated to show concern; he knew Sanzo’d never give a shit about him if he were to sulk off someplace.  This was worrisome, though.  

  


“Sanzo?” he said softly.

  


“Hn.”

  


“You want to, ah, talk about it?”  Shit, what did he know about trying to help people with their problems, anyway?  That was Hakkai’s role, or even the baka monkey’s -- he was always good for getting Sanzo’s knickers in a knot.  But now the monkey was long-faced, too, and it seemed Gojyo was the only one not drowning in despair or picking up the pieces.  He felt useless.

  


Sanzo gave him a look that was almost withering.  Almost, but it didn’t quite make it.  Still, that was a response. 

  


“I’m a good listener,” Gojyo continued hopefully.

  


“The hell you are,” Sanzo muttered, gazing off at nothing in particular.

  


“Try me.  What’s on your mind?”

  


The violet eyes turned to him now were pained.  Accusatory.  

  


Gojyo was confused.

  


“Why are you doing this?”  Sanzo shrugged away, grabbed his cigarettes from the bedside table.  “Get out.”

  


“I’m fucking concerned about you, okay?”  And he hadn’t realised it was true until he said it.  He felt useless because he couldn’t help.  The monkey was down, the monk was down, and Hakkai had his hands full.  Gojyo couldn’t do anything because... he was Gojyo.  The hired muscle, the target for practise, the thick-headed perverted half-breed.  Abruptly, he was annoyed with Sanzo.  

  


Sanzo snorted, lit a cigarette. 

  


“I am, damn it!  Let me help you.  Tell me what’s so awful about the rain that you have to shut everything else and make everyone else’s life hell.”

  


Sanzo’s head was down, blonde fringe shrouding his eyes in shadow.  He exhaled slowly, a blue-grey cloud slipping past his lips.  “You really want to know?” he asked in a voice that left no doubt to the fact he couldn’t care less if Gojyo wanted to know or not.  He was going to tell him anyway and make Gojyo regret asking.  That was his intention, anyway; Gojyo knew him well enough.  “I--  My...”  The words were strained and caught in his throat.

  


It was a long moment before Sanzo spoke again.  “Fucking idiot,” he muttered.

  


Gojyo couldn’t tell if that was directed at himself or Sanzo.

  


Gojyo walked over and sank down onto the bed by Sanzo but not crowding him.  The mood had changed; he felt as if someone had changed scripts on him and hadn’t bothered telling him.  He wasn’t used to this.  This wasn’t Sanzo on one of the rare moments he actually conversed with the ikkou; this wasn’t Sanzo giving an impatient explanation or berating him.  The gun was on the bedside table and Sanzo wasn’t showing any sign of moving to retrieve it.  Gojyo was at a loss. 

  


Sanzo was silent, and there was something different about that as well.  He seemed to be choking on it.

  


“Sanzo?”

  


“Shut up,” Sanzo hissed, barely a whisper.

  


Gojyo wanted to leave.  This was too awkward.  He didn’t know how to act normally around Sanzo.  There was no offence this time, no defence -- only the steady downpour and the pungent aroma of smoke already growing stale as Sanzo extinguished his cigarette.  He shifted on the bed for lack of anything else to do, arm brushing against Sanzo’s.

  


Sanzo flinched.  And continued to sit, a pregnant pause lingering in the air.  Gojyo couldn’t leave because he both wanted and didn’t want to hear what Sanzo was going to say.

  


The silence that wasn’t a silence because there were so many other noises in it -- the rain, Sanzo’s unsteady breathing, his own blood rushing in his ears -- continued to grow.  And then with a rush, it escaped:  “I can’t,” was what Sanzo said.  His shoulders slumped barely as the words fell out, his physical admission of defeat.

  


Gojyo knew what he meant, though if asked he wouldn’t have been able to explain it.  “Yeah.  I know.”

  


“You don’t know anything,” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

  


Gojyo said nothing.  He tentatively slid an arm around Sanzo’s shoulders, wondering as he did it if he had lost his mind.  Sanzo would push him away and it would be just another rejection, just another refusal.  Sometimes Gojyo couldn’t, either.

  


Sanzo didn’t move at first.  Then there was a tiny noise in his throat.  His body sagged against Gojyo.  

  


Gojyo blinked.  He was holding Sanzo.  Sanzo was allowing himself to be held.  Gojyo pulled him closer gently, slowly, nothing untoward in the embrace.  He was trying to give comfort because, yes, they were all men and they could dish it out and take it, but...  Sometimes, when the darkness seemed to crowd in too close, this is what he wanted for himself.  He knew he’d never get it.  Maybe Sanzo knew that, too.  It was altruism, maybe.  Hakkai said he had a big heart.  Too big.  It was twisting in his chest.  He hated the monk; he told himself he hated the monk.   Still, someone was taking what he had to give and not pushing it away.  Maybe it wasn’t altruism after all.

  


Sanzo leaned into him, breath stuttering sporadically.  Gojyo didn’t mention it, merely wrapped his arms tighter around Sanzo.  Sanzo moved, pulling away -- Gojyo bit his lip, preparing for the letdown, the pushing away.  

  


It never came.  Sanzo pressed in closer, face buried against Gojyo’s chest.  His hands clutched the fabric of Gojyo’s shirt, tight handfuls at the sides as Gojyo became accustomed to these new sensory experiences: Sanzo, warm, scented of something like sandalwood.  Golden strands of hair whispered against Gojyo’s neck.  He placed his hands firmly on Sanzo’s back, feeling the unsteady inhalations and exhalations accompanying emotional release.  The rain wasn’t the only thing falling.

  


Gojyo ran his hand over Sanzo’s back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.  Maybe Hakkai didn’t have the corner on this comfort thing, after all.  But, he wondered, why did he feel catharsis as his fingers came to stroke gently through Sanzo’s hair?  Why were the firm but kind ministrations he applied to Sanzo’s back, soft kneading of muscles too long tense, making him feel so at peace?

  


Sanzo finally lifted his head.  “Goddamn pervert,” he said in a voice slightly nasal.  He wouldn’t raise his face to Gojyo’s, instead pressed his forehead to the side of Gojyo’s neck.  

  


Gojyo couldn’t help but smile, or at least curl one corner of his lips into a lopsided grin.  “Yeah.  Can’t keep my hands off you.”  It seemed natural to punctuate that by sliding a hand down Sanzo’s arm.  Fingertips on skin at Sanzo’s exposed shoulder was enough to make Gojyo close his eyes.  And then the hard metal ring of silver, and then leather.

  


The mood was lighter now.  Though the downpour hadn’t lessened in intensity, it didn’t seem to be screaming in his ears anymore.  Gojyo’s hand slid over Sanzo’s forearm.  Just a casual touch with no forethought, no aim.  He was surprised when his fingers then arrived at the triangle of leather linked to the monk’s hand by a ring and then the hand itself.  He hesitated, then slipped his fingers through Sanzo’s.  Held his breath for a moment, waiting.

  


Sanzo didn’t move, just exhaled against Gojyo’s collarbone in what could’ve been a sigh.  They were touching; they were close.  He wanted to be closer.  For once, it wasn’t about sex.  Well, not entirely.  There was some other need nibbling at him now, urging him onwards.  More.  More contact, more skin, more breath, more...  More of this, this comfortable silence that wasn’t waiting to explode into an argument; this half-embrace and its comforting, casual arrangement of arms and hands and hair and thoughts and breaths overlapping each other with easy grace.  He pressed a kiss to the top of Sanzo’s head without thinking and felt eyelashes brush his neck.  

  


Sanzo tensed against him slightly.

  


“Sorry.”  And now he was certain Sanzo would come back to his senses, realise they were somewhat entangled and that Gojyo was close to him, could feel his breath and his pulse and the callouses on his hand.  He swallowed a sigh and prepared to get up, leave before he was told.  Or chased away.

  


“Hn,” was the only reply.  Sanzo raised his head, hand going to fondle the ends of Gojyo’s hair.  He stared at it curiously for a moment with red-rimmed eyes.  

  


Just as abruptly, he released the strands and scooted back farther onto the bed.  He wouldn’t meet Gojyo’s eyes.  “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

  


Gojyo snorted.  “Like they’d believe me.”  The moment had passed.  He felt wistful, but it had been nice for a while.  Ironic, wasn’t it, he thought; Hakkai might spend the next couple of days wondering why Gojyo was now sulking.  “Feel better?”

  


No reply.  Sanzo kicked his shoes off and stretched out, back to Gojyo, facing the wall.

  


So that was how it was going to be.  It stung a little.  He raked a hand through his hair.  Wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to it, right?  Oh, well.  He had taken only a couple of steps toward the door when Sanzo’s voice stopped him.

  


“Stay.”  An order, a demand.

  


He halted, listening very hard because he was sure he’d misheard, or maybe imagined.  

  


“And don’t get any ideas.”

  


Gojyo stared at the floor for a long moment before kicking off his own shoes and shrugging out of his vest.  A thousand retorts came to mind but he didn’t want to blow it and/or get his head shot off.  He let the vest fall to the floor and climbed in behind Sanzo slowly.  Timidly scooted in closer, wondering wildly when in hell he did anything in bed timidly.  When he was close enough to feel the heat from Sanzo’s body, he risked sliding an arm around the monk’s waist.

  


Did he imagine it or did Sanzo just sigh?

  


He considered shifting in closer, or pulling Sanzo to him and closing that interminable distance of a few inches.  He was spared the effort; Sanzo slid back.  There was nothing overtly sensual in the movement but Gojyo’s eyes fell shut at the union, the perfect alignment of their bodies.  His arm tightened around Sanzo possessively, instinctively and he immediately opened his eyes, expecting admonition.  He wondered if he would ever be able to interact with Sanzo on any level without waiting for a reprimand.

  


“Don’t even think about it,” Sanzo murmured, but the words were loose.  

  


“I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing your reputation.”  Gojyo grinned, leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on Sanzo’s shoulder.  

  


“Don’t,” came the whisper.  Sanzo’s voice sounded far away.

  


Gojyo frowned.  It had been so nice, just a moment ago.  He felt as if he could still touch that moment, maybe if he stretched forward his hand far enough, he could grasp it again and pull the easygoing warmth back over them like a blanket.  

  


Something in his body language must’ve spoken his thoughts, for he felt Sanzo’s fingers ghost over the top of his hand.  Leather slipped over Gojyo’s wrist, strong fingers slid between his and curled, made themselves a home.  He relaxed, curled against Sanzo’s back.  

  


“This doesn’t mean I like you, you know.”

  


“Same here,” said Gojyo, nestling his chin in the crook of Sanzo’s neck.  “I still think you’re a bitchy monk.”  His lips brushed Sanzo’s ear as he spoke.

  


“You’re an idiot.  And a pervert.”

  


“You’re sharing your bed with a pervert.  What’s that make you?”

  


“It’s going to make _you_ dead if you don’t shut up and go to sleep.”

  


Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Gojyo that they were actually going to sleep together.  He blinked, brow furrowed.  Sanzo wanted him to sleep with him.  Not have sex, but _sleep_ with him.  

  


Sanzo’s body was warm and heavy against his, his breathing starting to slow.  But Gojyo’s mind was trying to make sense of this.  It didn’t seem likely he was afraid of an assassin catching him unawares; the attacks had all but stopped lately.  He didn’t want to fuck, he’d already established that (although Gojyo wondered if he could convince the monk otherwise once he was in a better frame of mind).  Then why?  Just the comfort of a warm body behind him?

  


Gojyo wanted that sometimes, too.  It shouldn’t have bothered him.  He had been used before.  Hell, most of the time it was his idea.  But...

  


“Sanzo?”

  


“What?”  There was a hint of irritation in the slightly drowsy voice.

  


“Why am I here?”

  


“If you’re going to get existential on me, you can go back to your own damned room.”

  


“No, I mean...”

  


Sanzo exhaled loudly through his nose.  “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.”

  


“What?” Gojyo asked, beginning to feel irritated himself.  He leaned up on one arm.  “All I want to know is--”

  


Sanzo rolled over enough to give him a cross look.  As he did so, his ass pressed into Gojyo’s groin and the kappa subsequently forgot what he was saying.

  


“Yes?” 

  


Gojyo licked his lips.  Damned monk.  And he was lying there clueless, staring up at him expectantly.  Gojyo wanted him.  Wanted those stupid violet eyes hazy with lust, wanted to tug at that luscious full lower lip with his mouth.  Wanted a fistful of that golden hair in his hand as he fucked Sanzo, or Sanzo fucked him -- either way.  And Sanzo, the bastard, had made it clear that wasn’t on the menu tonight.

  


Fine.  He could wait ‘til morning.  But he still had a question.

  


His hand seemed to come up of its own accord to brush against Sanzo’s cheek.  The monk’s gaze lowered at the touch.  “What are you...”

  


“Do you want me here?”

  


“Fucking moron.  You woke me to ask that?”

  


“You weren’t asleep.”

  


”Did I or did I not ask you to stay?  Baka.”  Sanzo rolled back over, shoulders hunched.

  


“No, me.  Would Hakkai or the monkey do?  Did you just want a warm body?”

  


“You’d be used to it, wouldn’t you?”

  


It hurt because it was true.  “Fucking prick.”

  


He would’ve left then, want or no, if fingers hadn’t tightened around his hand.  A silent apology, or perhaps a plea.  “If you think I’d let Goku in my bed like this, you truly are a moron.”

  


“What about Hakkai?”  he asked, fearing the answer.  Sanzo seemed to respect Hakkai; when the two of them were in conversation, so often he faded into the background, having to content himself with annoying Goku.  They made him feel childish, ridiculous, unimportant.  He’d never tell Hakkai that; Hakkai’d be mortified.  But still.  As soon as he had asked, he wished he could retract the question.

  


“Hn.  Please.”

  


Gojyo let the reply wash over him.  Whatever annoyance he may have felt over his best friend being snubbed was replaced by a tiny feeling of triumph.  

  


“Will you shut up now?”

  


“Yeah,” Gojyo murmured, kissing Sanzo’s shoulder once more.  His lips were softer this time, lingered.  He then leaned back before there could be any objections.  He had to do it, though.  It was his way of saying thank you.  

  


He was almost certain there was a sigh this time.

  


* * *

  


Gojyo woke by degrees, awareness coming to his body slowly.  He stretched, a lengthy spine-popping ordeal that solicited a moan.  He rubbed his eyes before opening them then exhaled loudly and yawned.

  


Something was different.  There was a leg draped over his.  He scratched his head, eyes still adjusting to the morning light.  He nearly jumped when he looked to his left and saw Sanzo, face unreadable, hand tucked under his cheek, watching.  Memories filtered slowly through the gaps of his sleep-fuzzy brain.

  


“Hey,” he said, because nothing else seemed appropriate.  Why the hell was Sanzo watching him sleep, anyway?  Fear gripped him for a moment; he was certain Sanzo had chopped his hair off or done something awful to him while he dozed and was just waiting for a reaction.  His hand flew to his hair.  It was still there.

  


He rubbed his eyes again, wondering how long Sanzo was going to sit there and stare at him without speaking.  Then he felt a hand on his stomach.  He froze.  Fingers snuck beneath his shirt, ghosting over bare skin, then a flat palm sliding up.  Gojyo lay perfectly still, arms still up, hands still fisted from rubbing eyes.  He wondered if he had only dreamt he woke up.  The palm was now rubbing circles over his ribs.  He stared up at the ceiling.  Smoke lingered in wisps in the air.  The rain had stopped.  

  


“They’re out shopping,” Sanzo said, lifting Gojyo’s shirt.  

  


It took Gojyo’s mind a moment to process what Sanzo had said.  He still hadn’t concluded what was going on as there’s no way in hell what he thought was happening was actually happening.  Sanzo was giving him a medical exam.  It was the only logical explanation for the exploratory touching, the curious gazing.

  


That theory flew out the window when Sanzo straddled him.

  


Gojyo’s eyes widened.  Sanzo paused in his tugging at Gojyo’s shirt and looked at him.  “Do you object?”

  


“Fuck, no.”

  


Gojyo leaned up to assist.  The shirt came off and Sanzo tossed it to the floor.  Sanzo eased back, a hand to his chin.  He studied Gojyo contemplatively for a moment.  Gojyo considered the medical exam theory once more; perhaps Sanzo just wanted to give him a more in depth inspection.

  


“I’m going to fuck you,” he said finally.  “I’ve never done this before.  If you say a word, I’ll kill you.”

  


The tone of voice left no room for doubt.  And Gojyo somehow found that hot as hell.  But was he allowed to say nothing at all, or just nothing about the fact that--

  


Holy fucking shit, he thought.  I’m about to get fucked by a virgin monk.  He nearly laughed at what he considered his incredibly fantastically impossibly good fortune.  Mondo.  Mondo good fortune.  Damn straight.

  


His delight must’ve been apparent; Sanzo smirked at him.  “Pervert.”

  


“Do you object?”  Gojyo was leering.  He knew he was leering.  He couldn’t help it.  Sanzo was atop him rather primly, still fully clothed -- but not for long.  And even if Sanzo did intend to top, Gojyo planned on having him dishevelled and panting and coming undone first.  He was feeling less wary this morning.  They were in his territory now.

  


Sanzo leaned forward slowly, pushing his hips into Gojyo’s, and ran his fingertips over Gojyo’s lips.  “For once, no.”


End file.
